


Better Than Custard

by allthejohnlock



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, eating custard leads to schmexy times, pointless smut, smutty times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-21
Updated: 2013-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-12 13:21:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allthejohnlock/pseuds/allthejohnlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eating custard never lead to so much fun. And by fun I mean sexy times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Custard

His grey trousers were pooled around his ankles, her black tights had slid down her legs and her plaid dress had ridden up, exposing her luscious thighs.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The stove hit the wall repeatedly, as each thrust into her wet heat left the Doctor and Clara gasping for breath.

Their attempt at custard was successful, infinitely more so than any of the soufflés Clara had made. They’d been teasingly feeding each other, pretending to "accidently" drop custard on each other's heads, when the Doctor’s spoon had slipped and custard had landed on Clara’s chest. The Doctor’s eyes had watched the custard land on the smooth skin, and without thinking, he’d gently collected it with his index finger. He'd felt the warmth of Clara's skin and the rapid beating of her heart and he'd felt the want coursing through his veins. He'd wanted Rose, but with her he just couldn't give into his desires. He'd been so scared, too scared, he wasn't worthy of such love after destroying his people. Yet now he wanted a moment of selfishness, to give into his most primal instincts, and without thinking of the consequences, he slowly sucked the custard off of his finger. He’d had a moment of regret when his eyes had met Clara's chocolate browns', but the blatant desire he saw matched his feelings, and their lips had instintly met and they’d started snogging in earnest.

Pulling back, Clara found her Doctor’s pupil’s full blow, lips a swollen red, and hair finally truly dishevelled. He’d looked shocked and tried to apologize when Clara’s hands moved to remove his blazer, latching her mouth onto his once more. Hands on her hips, the Doctor lifted Clara onto the first surface they encountered, the stove, which had luckily cooled down and only provided the slightest pleasing warmth under Clara’s bottom. Deposing her, her legs latched around his hips and she clearly felt his arousal.

It was only a matter of time before the Doctor slid his hands under Clara’s dress, lowering her tights and pants, feeling her warm wetness. His hands journey north under her dress to pull her bra down and cup her lovely breasts, lightly flicking her nipples. His mouth attacked her neck; sucking, nibbling, teeth creating such causing exquisite feelings within her being. The Doctor reveled in the warmth, softness, and delicate smell of custard and flowers on her neck when Clara pulled their mouths together once more. Her lips were just as nimble as her fingers had been, deftly unbuttoning his shirt and trousers, undoing his bow tie, and leaving him wanting. It was a game where they both fought for dominance; nibbling lips, sucking tongues, trying desperate to merge into one. His trousers and pants fell to the floor as she pushed them down, early to feel him inside her. He entered her slick heat in one swift movement as they both gasped, pulling each other closer for optimum pleasure.

Harder, faster, the Doctor pushed into Clara, as she arched her back, hands running down the Doctor’s pale chest and back. The Doctor’s hands left her breasts to reach between them, finding her clitoris and gently thumbing it. Clara’s breath hitched as she ran her nails down the Doctor’s back, marring the pale skin.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

“Clar-” the Doctor tried to speak but was unable to form the words as he came, eyes wide open, shocked at the pleasure coursing through his veins, his two hearts struggled to keep up.

The Doctor thrust one final time as Clara’s nail raked down his back, harder than ever, and she too cried his name, reaching her climax. 

Breathing heavily, they touched foreheads, and kissed, less urgently this time, as the Doctor reluctantly slid out of Clara’s wet heat.

“This was much better than custard.”

Clara laughed.


End file.
